


Olympus

by ZenobiaAugusta



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bleak, Child Abuse, Crossdressing, Emetophilia, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenobiaAugusta/pseuds/ZenobiaAugusta
Summary: Ganymede is a prostitute, Zeus runs a brothel, in addition to other sketchy businesses. None of the underage stuff will be graphic. Everything will be terrible. I will update tags as I go.





	1. Ganymede

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a proofreader and I only write when I cant sleep, so let me know if something is wrong.

I'm sitting outside. The sun is warm, but not too hot. I'm pulling last nights take out of my purse. I felt like dressing like a girl today. Short black dress, tiny black bag, giant sunglasses. I hand the money to my pimp and he frowns. "What the fuck is this, change?"

"Oh, yeah," I dig further into my bag, take out my receipt, "the hallway light went out, I had to buy a new bulb."

He laughs, giggles, almost. "You are my favorite bottom bitch."

I feel good.

It won't last.

"I'm going to miss you."

"What?" Is this it? Have I gotten too old? I'm on the wrong side of twenty. They are going to take me out into the woods and shoot me, like a dog....

"The boss man saw you, says he wants you sent up." I'm being promoted. But I don't want to go. I don't really love living out here, doing this, but to leave would be to head into the unknown.

"Like hell I am."

"Look, I already found your replacement. You are going up Monday."

"No, I am not." We sit in awkward silence. His mouth flattens to a hard, thin line. Briefly, I wonder if he's going to make a scene. Scream at me. Drag me out by my hair. Instead, he just pulls money out from the stack I handed him, to pay for our weekly brunch. Our last brunch...

"Well, we'll see. I'll be by tonight."

* * *

I'm something of a cliche. I don't know who my parents are, if they are still alive. I was bounced around from home to home. I had a real biting problem. My last set of foster parents were crazy religious. Had twelve of their own kids, plus two more they adopted from Eastern Europe somewhere. One was in bad shape. Couldn't even move on his own. One day they caught me in the laundry with their oldest son. They said I must be full of demons, they said I must have corrupted him. My "Dad" took a belt to me. They moved a mattress into the laundry and locked me inside it at night. But the lock only worked from the outside. I still got nightly visits from my dear "brother". One night he forgot to lock me back in, so I left.

The first few nights were rough. I had stolen all I could grab from "Mom"s purse, but, it was really only enough for a few bus rides. I wandered aimlessly around the city. Spangeing when I could. There's this thing about homelessness nobody ever tells you....it's really fucking boring.

Eventually my pimp found me.

So here I am, sitting in the dingy kitchen of our crappy little townhouse. I am banging the back of David's head against the wall and looking at a stopwatch. David holds a raw egg in his mouth. We are doing this because David gives terrible blow jobs. He keeps biting people. And, there he goes, he's broken the egg. He starts to gag, he want to spit it out. I stop banging and cover his mouth with my hand. He knows he has to swallow now. He can chew up the shells if he needs to. I watch his throat, watch him swallow, then I remove my hand, I wipe the escaped bit of egg slime off his chin and shove it into his mouth. He swallows. I get up, I get another egg and he opens up his mouth.

"Five minutes, please, just keep your fucking mouth open," I shove the egg in, I restart the timer.

This is how our pimp finds us, three and a half minutes later. He enters the kitchen with a boy who smells like prey. I used to smell like that, maybe sometimes I still do.

"He bit somebody again?!"

"Yep."

"OK, I'll take over. This is Hylas, show him around."

I stop banging and hear David choke. He broke the egg again. It occurs to me we might run out of eggs before he learns to keep his mouth open.

Hylas is cute. Short, but still taller than me. He has large blue eyes that make me think of pictures of the Caribbean.

"How old are you. Don't lie."

"21," I slap him. He turns his head but barely reacts. I hope it doesn't bruise.

"I said don't lie."

"18," he says, looking at my shoes.

"If anybody else asks, your 16, OK?"

"OK."

"And when I'm in the room you look at me, just at me, do you understand?"

"Yes," he says to a stain on the floor next to me.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"Oh," he says, looking up.

"I'm trying to keep you alive here, if I am worried, get worried. If I look scared, run to the nearest closet, they can all be locked from the inside," I say this, but I know he won't run, he'll freeze. Anyone can do anything they want to him.

 


	2. Ganymede

We go outside. I want to find Hylas a regular. Someone easy. Someone who will come inside. I am not putting Hylas in a car yet.

Out here he looks like a schoolboy waiting for the bus, he's even wearing a fucking polo shirt.

I'm glad it's warm. I'm still dressed like a girl. I don't look like a girl. Lately, I just want to wear skirts. Or, maybe, it's the heels. I'm 5'4", heels let me look everyone in the eye.

Dorothy rolls up. Perfect. He parks across the street. Normally, it's risky to leave your car in this neighborhood, but everyone around here knows not to mess with our johns.

"You still got a gag reflex?"

"Yes," Hylas says to a nearby street lamp.

I grab his chin and turn his face towards me. At least he gave me a real answer this time, instead of the answer he thought I wanted.

"Good boy," I say, and I feel kind of bad about slapping him earlier, so I kiss the tip of his nose.

Dorothy is on our sidewalk now.

"I got a new one for you. You want your usual setup?" I say. I move my hands from Hylas' face to my sides. He picks up my right hand in both of his and says, "You know it."

I feel him pressing the money to my palm, "Go on up then, Hylas will be in in a minute," I'll count the money when I go back inside. He knows better than to try and short me.

"Listen, that's Dorothy-"

"Dorothy?"

"As in 'friend of.'"

"I don't understand," his brows furrow. I think he might cry.

"It's senior citizen slang for gay. I think. Anyway, he'll head straight for the bathroom at the end of the second floor hallway. He's a gagger, so he's going to ask you to blow him, then, eventually, he's going to hold your head down until you puke. When he is done you can shower if you need to. Definitely brush your teeth. Do you have a toothbrush?"

He nods yes. Those too blue eyes of his are as big as saucers. He might cry. That's OK, Dorothy won't mind. 

"Well, go," I say, shoving him back towards our stoop. He stumbles a moment, then finds his feet and nearly runs inside. I follow him to just inside the doorway, then I stop to count the money. Some nights I don't have to work, I just collect the money and try to keep everyone alive and relatively sober. This is not one of those nights.

I enter the kitchen and Ajax, my pimp, is fucking David on the kitchen table. I guess he learned to keep his fucking mouth open. Or we ran out of eggs.

"We are gonna have a lite night if you don't send him back out," I say.

He pulls out of David and looks at me, and his eyes are too bright. He is high and I have made a mistake mouthing off.

"Then you'd better get back out there, kitten," he says. That last word. Kitten. It's a threat I don't want to think about. For a moment I think he will hit me, but instead he just glares and I turn around and head back out to the street.

 


	3. Hylas

I do not want to be here. This old man, he's between me and the door. I am on the verge of panic.

"Take off your shirt, please," he says. He says it flatly, matter-of-factly, and it is not comforting, but somehow, it pulls me back from the edge. I volunteered for this. I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor.

"You are beautiful." he says. And maybe it's true, or maybe it's what he always says. Dio tells me I'm beautiful. He takes off his pants and his ancient looking, slightly yellow underwear. He's semi-erect and stroking himself a little.

"Well, get to it," he says. I drop to my knees. I put my hand at the base of his erection and he bats it away. I open my mouth and swallow him, but not all the way. He seems happy with that for now. He smells slightly musty, his pubic hair is gray.

I think about Dio. We met the day of commencement. I was already considering dropping out. The previous night, after we had moved into the dorms and gone over the rules, the RAs loaded us onto a bus and brought us to a mixer in one the gymnasiums. It was miserable. I stood up against the wall for an hour, too shy to approach anyone,then left on the first shuttle back. That morning I woke up and looked at my door. Someone had written "PUSSY FAGGOT" on it in black permanent marker. They told me college would be so much different from high school.

 

I skipped commencement, staying in my room until it sounded like everyone else on my floor had left. I left the dorm then, I thought I would walk around campus and try to figure out where all my classes were, so I wouldn't get lost and be late. But as soon as I got onto The Green I saw him. He was leaning against a tree, playing his guitar. There were three girls sitting around him. One of them was weaving something in her lap. They all looked like everything I wanted to be. Happy, at ease, unworried. The girl who had been weaving held up her work. It was a wreath made of ivy. She placed it on Dio's head, and he looked me in the eye and I couldn't breath.

I can't breath now. He's started shoving my head into him. Grinding himself into me. I try to pull my head back, to swallow some of my spit, get a little air, stop the gagging. And he lets me, this time, momentarily. Then he's at it again.

"Choke on me, choke on me," he says.

 I fight every reflex, and just try not to gag. But it's coming, I can feel it in the back of my throat. It's almost a relief when my body takes over and I throw up around him. He pulls back then tilts my head back so he can look at me as he ejaculates on my face. I want to wipe my face off but I'm afraid to. He looks down at me a moment, and his face is a puzzle to me.

"Thank you," he says, then he turns to the sink and turns it on. There's a washcloth right next to it and he uses it to wipe himself off.

He is gone now, but I did not see him go. I do not know how long I have been kneeling here.


End file.
